From the Ashes
by Bonzai-Bunny
Summary: After a terrible assault, is it possible for Mello to rise from the ashes like the Phoenix he used to be? Or will he simply drown and die? MattxMello
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Rape, language, disturbing imagery

Disclaimer: We don't own Death Note or Another Note.

Authoress Note (Bonzai-Bunny): This is a re-upload of this fic. It was deleted, because I believed that it would never be updated again (my and my co-author's lives couldn't have been further apart), but she contacted me and said that she still wanted to work on this, so this is try number two. We might finish this time, ne?

---o0o---

Late in the year 2002, three murders were committed in Los Angeles altogether known as "The Los Angeles BB Serial Killer Case." While this case was indeed solved and over-played in the media, as many serial murders were, most people didn't know about the darker underlining that the case held. Most people couldn't and wouldn't comprehend the suffering of the victims' families and just what it's like to have to identify your daughter's body in the morgue with her skull cracked open. Most people didn't know that the horrific murders were committed with childish needs to be first and best, and that those three people, one a little girl, died for nothing. Most people didn't know that Beyond Birthday didn't have three victims; he had four.

--o0o--

Mello, age twelve, stared listlessly out of the adjacent frost covered window panes. Snow had fallen the previous night, blanketing the ground in its pure whiteness.

White. He hated that color. It was all around him, screaming at him, and taunting him with its indifferent blankness. Mello could feel his fingers twitch anxiously from just the pure need to be doing anything to be kept busy. His chest felt heavy with apprehension of an unknown source and his mind yelled at him to do _something_. Mello huffed in annoyance and blew strings of hair out of his face.

He wished Matt would hurry up and get there. Mello needed something, _anything_, to keep his mind from being idle. Because if his mind was idle, he would start to think about the reason he was in the infirmary in the first place. The reason he was stuck there, forced to stare at the blank white walls. Then Mello's already shattered mind would just continue to fragment away like forgotten leaves in the wind.

He would start to think about how that L look-alike had shown up in his room in the middle of the night, startling him, because at first, Mello thought _it really was L_. Mello would start to think about his wrists being bound, Christ-style against the bedposts and his mouth being gagged, as coldness curled in his stomach and nausea swept over his features.

_He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't scream. His legs were free and he tried to kick B off, but the older male simply seized them with a vice grip, his nails digging into Mello's skin, producing dots of red copper.  
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," B cooed, his face twisting into a maniacal grin that looked so disgusting on L's features.  
_"_No, no. If you struggle, I'll have to hurt you more," he shook his head mock-sympathetically._

And then Mello would start to think about the pain and once he started thinking about the pain, all of the thoughts of that night would rush out like opened flood gates. Each memory came so furiously Mello couldn't contain it, let alone try and make sense of it all.  
Mello shut his eyes, unable to cope with all of the information flooding through and attacking his brain.  
He could hear B's mocking voice in his ear, _"I'm so glad I chose you. A perfect goodbye present."_

Because that's all he was to B, a sick way to say goodbye to L.

He could feel B's hand brush against his tear-drenched cheek whispering, "_You've got such pretty eyes Mihael, such pretty eyes. Don't close them."_

And Mello couldn't stop the overwhelming urge he had to just vomit; he felt so sick hearing that disgusting grating voice in his head, tormenting him hour after hour. The curse of being a genius was that he could remember every detail. Every cut, every bruise, stitch, and sore on his body would reawaken from the memory, dousing him in pain. Mello wasn't allowed the ability like others to just forget.

And the memories he wanted to forget the most would play as endless reruns in his mind.

… _Taunting_ him.

… Telling him how weak he was.

… Just how pathetic he had become.

…Just how unfit he was now in the eyes of God.

He wished that the nurse would come back to bring him more pain medication. He glanced at the I.V. in his arm realizing that he was almost out, but even then he knew that it wouldn't be enough.  
Wammy monitored the drug intake of patients very closely. They would give him enough to take the edge off of the pain, but not enough to forget. Never enough to forget. Mello was almost yearning for the warm, blankness of a drug-induced stupor, like what they gave when he first arrived in the infirmary as a hysterical, bleeding mess.

Fuck, he was glad Near wasn't there to see that.

The warm blankness was much preferred to his sadistic, disturbing nightmares as he relived the event over and over again. Part of him was realizing that death could be a good solution.

(_Act now! Once it's over, you won't feel a thing._)

But Mello wouldn't allow himself to be so weak. He could handle this, he told himself. He just had to forget.

"_You've got such pretty eyes Mihael, such pretty eyes. Don't close them_."

He needed to do _something_. He was tired of the perpetual whiteness of the room, it made him feel so dirty, and he needed something to take his mind off of the pain. He needed something to take his mind off of everything, and God damnit, where was Matt?

Mello looked down at his cross and frowned. He saw it upside down, resting on his chest, and he couldn't help but to think of how ironic that was. God has abandoned him too, hadn't he?

In his musings, Mello almost didn't notice the door opening. His heart, overwhelmed with joy, beat furiously in his chest until he looked over and saw the distinctive white hair and his mood deflated faster than a balloon. Near's presence pissed him off more than it usually did.

"What do you want Near?" Mello asked bitingly, somehow knowing that Near was enjoying his weakness and that he could see just how dirty Mello was now. Even so, Mello couldn't help but to find it slightly amusing how much the pale child blended in with the white walls and general white everything of his room. They said white was supposed to be comforting and neutral.

All it did was drive Mello insane.

"I wanted to see your physical condition and wish you well," Near stated in his emotionless and otherwise unconvincing tone while twisting a piece of hair.

"Cut the bullshit, what are you really here for?"  
Near sighed in a way Mello assumed was mocking. It pissed him off.

"I wanted to inform you that this incident will not affect your succession."

Mello was beyond pissed this time, he was enraged. How dare Near? _How dear he?_  
The blonde gripped his rosary so tightly that his knuckles turned white to keep himself from chucking it at the other boy.

"Fuck off, Near!" He snapped. Near didn't seem at all fazed by this and continued.

"I apologize if this came at an inconvenient time—"

"Near if you had any idea what you were talking about, you would shut the fuck up now," he said in a deathly low voice that almost shook with rage. "Because you know what happened to me, Near? I was—" Mello was cut off by the sudden bile rising in his throat, and he swallowed. He couldn't even say, "raped" without getting nauseous. How fucking pathetic.

"I was r—assaulted," he settled for that instead, "and you have the gall to tell me I won't be kicked out of lineup for being L!?"

Near took a rather painful-looking tug on his hair. "Mello I—"

"You have the fucking gall to tell me that after the pain I went through? Is that stupid competition all you care about!? You have the audacity to say that—"

"I'm—"

"You're what, Near!? You're sorry? No, you aren't, because you're never sorry. You don't care about anything other than yourself and your fucking toys! Do you have any idea what it's like to—?" Mello broke off with a hiss as he shut his eyes and clenched his teeth; his angry and abrupt moves were too much for his fractured rib. B had been more than a little rough with him.

_He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't scream._

Near sat on the cold floor, his knee pulled up to his stomach in his basic defense pose. It was clear to him what had happened to Mello. He had studied enough rape victims in psychology to put the pieces together. That isn't to say that he was totally unsympathetic, but he realized that he probably should have waited to tell Mello that information.

It was clear that the blonde was far gone by then. When he opened his eyes, they were glazed as though he were reliving everything and when he looked directly at Near, a shiver crept up the boy's spine. It was like Mello was looking clear through him, penetrating his soul. Near had never felt anything as unnerving as that glassy-eyed stare. It was too much for Near; he turned his head, unable to keep eye contact.

"Mello don't..."

If the blonde had been in his right state of mind, he might have noticed the slight pleading undertone in Near's otherwise emotionless voice.

"Look at me Near!"

The albino child looked up again, his eyes a fraction of an inch wider, and pulling a white ringlet with force that was most certainly painful.

Mello's expression was livid.

"Do you have any idea what's like—" his voice cracked. A tell-tale warning of an explosion about to come. Mello was beyond gone. Mello was dead.

"Just . . . get out Near," he finished, his rage suddenly deflated from a combination of pain meds and physical exhaustion.

"You fucking disgust me Near. Get out of my sight," his voice was rough and dripped with disdain. The smaller child stood shakily and scuffled out of the room. He wouldn't allow himself to look back on that being that was once Mello. On that lifeless, human shell sitting on the hospital bed.

Near saw Matt after he left the room. The redhead had probably been there the whole time. Near looked down, his hand reaching up for his hair.

"I didn't know," he said softly, looking up with wide eyes, the closest the kid probably had ever come to a sincere apology.  
Matt nodded. His expression was unreadable through the yellow-tinted goggles.

"I know."

Near slumped to the ground, holding his knee to his chest, his comfort pose. He winced as he took another tug on his hair.

"I didn't know . . ." he whispered again.

Matt noticed that he was shaking slightly and realized that any other child would be crying, but Near had long since lost the ability to shed tears. So Matt did the only thing he could think of; he slid to the ground and wrapped his arms around the child, albeit a bit awkwardly. This was the only comfort that Matt was sure had even the slightest chance of helping.  
Near tensed immediately, but he slowly relaxed into the gamer's arms, as he repeated that sentence like a mantra.  
Matt sighed, feeling pale hair tickle his chin, wondering just what he was going to do with those two.

--o0o--

Matt entered the room next with a chocolate bar somehow growing cold in his hand. His trusty goggles were over his emerald eyes keeping them hidden and unreadable.

Hiding. That's what he was doing.

Mello looked up and if Matt had arrived there first, he might have looked excited, but Matt wasn't first. So the expression Mello offered him was an exhausted one with his teal eyes plowing into the redhead, _through_ him, and Matt felt a shiver creep up his spine. No wonder Near had been so freaked out.

He felt oddly naked standing there in the center of the room.

"Hey," Matt clearly wasn't big on words at the moment.

"Hey," Mello responded with a slight nod of his head to show that he acknowledged Matt's presence.

Silence soon followed.

It was awkward at best. At worst?

Matt didn't want to think about it.

The redhead shifted under Mello's gaze and looked at the floor. The chocolate bar was numbing his hand.

The silence thickened between them. It was suffocating and pulled them under to its noiseless, murky depths. Matt was the first to break through the surface.

"You freaked out Near, you know?" The moment the words glided off of his lips, Matt felt like a traitor. He didn't know why he felt like a traitor; Near wasn't his friend, but whatever the reasons the albino child had for looking so shaken up (as much as Near ever would because his expression never changed) they were his own.

It wasn't Matt's place to spew them out to whoever he pleased.

Mello gave a half-shrug and turned his attention to the window. "I don't care."

Matt knew he didn't.

The gamer nodded, though Mello wouldn't have been able to see it and almost turned around to leave. He would allow that person to continue to stare out the window; his Mello wasn't there any longer, but then he remembered the chocolate bar in his hand.

"I brought this," he advanced to the blonde's bed and handed him the bar, happy to hand over the thing that made him think of Mello so much.  
The one who didn't seem so shattered. The one that seemed to have the fire and strength of a phoenix.

Mello's smile was soft, but was miles away from his eyes. He muttered, "Thanks," and reached out to take the chocolate when Matt's eyes widened considerably.

'What's he looking at?' Mello thought immediately and followed Matt's line of sight.

To his wrist.

His wrist that had angry red scratches drawn over dark purple bruises that faded into green. It looked like the inside of a jawbreaker.

Mello quickly grabbed the bar and dug his hands underneath the covers to where the redhead couldn't see them. Where they could be forgotten.

_He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't scream._

Matt backed away slowly, feeling that he was witnessing something that he had no right to be apart of.

"I'll visit you sometime later, okay?" He called to the blonde, but if Mello heard, he wasn't showing it.

He was still looking down with wide eyes at his lap where his hands lay buried beneath the cover. Looking impossibly broken.  
Mello obviously wasn't going to answer, so Matt let himself out, pausing one last time to look at his friend.

The blonde's hair cascaded around his face with the yellow strands looking golden through the light of the snow-window. His eyes were filled with distress and he obviously wasn't wearing the most flattering of garments.

But standing there in the doorway, Matt thought Mello couldn't have looked more beautiful.

TBC.

---o0o---

Authoress Note: Um, yay? Review please. It makes Mello less angsty. :c


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: We don't own Death Note or Another Note

Authoress Note: Don't expect the next update to be this quick. xD This was already written. Enjoy the angst~

---o0o---

A week had passed since the day Mello had fought with Near. Mello was still in the infirmary, trapped in the white. It was only thanks to Matt's visits that Mello's fragile and breaking sanity kept from falling to ruins. It kept Mello from attempting to set the damn room on fire, even though in the back of his mind, he knew that he wasn't in the mood or physically able to try and pull those childish antics at a time like this. Still, Mello wondered how nice in would be to see those white walls blaze red, and then turn to black. Maybe then, they would be as dirty as he was, and would be just as ruined.

During that week, Mello had set up sort of a routine for himself. He would wake up early, around four due to a nightmare, and say a few prayers. Praying always helped to calm him. Eventually he would eat, forcing himself swallow the bland tasting food, and he would wait.

Waiting was the hardest part.

Because then, he would be susceptible to any thoughts and feelings that might be lurking in the dark corners in his mind. But if he could find strength through the waiting, Matt would be there after and it would be time for lunch. They would eat in silence more often than not. It was growing less awkward by the day, but still wasn't something that Matt liked to suffer through.

If Mello was in a good mood, he would smile a bit, attempt to eat his food, and talk a little.

If Mello was in a bad mood, he would completely ignore the redhead and his food, but Matt knew he couldn't leave. Despite the inky mood that would hang over Mello like a cloud, Matt could see the solitude in those piercing teal orbs that seemed to glimmer under the fluorescent light.  
Matt didn't _really _mind the silence though because he knew how much Mello appreciated him being there.

Appreciated. Matt liked being that.

So Matt sat through the semi-silence, paying close attention when the blonde did speak and pretended not to notice if Mello suffered a brief panic attack.

Before Matt left, he would always give Mello a chocolate bar, whether he seemed to acknowledge it or not. And after the redhead was long gone, Mello would attempt to eat the chocolate, but it would always taste bitter and lonely on his tongue, like tears.

Matt came back in the afternoon, before dinner and then after depending on whether or not he had detention (he had it a lot) and Mello would be secretly elated, because when Matt was with him through the evening, the night wouldn't be so tormenting.

The night was when he was alone. During the night was when it could happen again, and as much as Mello tried to tell himself otherwise he couldn't shake the coldness running through veins. He couldn't shake that fear that once he fell asleep he would wake up in the middle of the night with B standing there, for the life of him looking like L, and it would happen all over again.

Sometimes they had to use a sedative to get him to fall asleep.

And he would wake up each night screaming.

--o0o--

Mello quietly played the Gameboy Advanced Matt had managed to sneak into the infirmary and left for him. He wasn't a fan of video games, but anything was better than looking at the condescending white walls. He looked up from the game to the clock and wondered where Matt was. Lunch would be starting soon.

Just as Mello had resigned himself to another few hours of agonizing boredom, he heard a light tap on the door.

He looked up to see the door open slowly, and froze at the sight of the man standing there. His odd crouch, stoic face, and the darkness underneath his eyes were more than enough to terrify the blonde.

"_I'm so glad I chose you. The perfect goodbye present." _

Mello could feel his chest beginning to tighten, a clutching feeling that seemed to stop his heart. His breath was frozen in his throat and his hands were shaking, they were clutching the Gameboy so hard. It was shocking the device hadn't shattered.

Never before had he felt that overwhelming blanket of fear that was covering his eyes and suffocating him.

_He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't scream. _

He couldn't _breathe. _

He pulled his legs up closer to him, not caring about the pain it caused. In fact, he barely could feel it.

So it _must_ have been a dream, right? It _had_ to have been a dream.

That couldn't be B standing before him. No, no, no, _no_.

He could see the lips moving of the man in front of him, but barely heard a word he said because of the blood rushing past his ears.  
He caught a muffled, "Mello…heard…unfortunate…B…punished…"

And Mello's mind slowly began to process what he was saying. The man was saying that B would be punished.

Wait. So…that man talking wasn't B? No…it was _L_. Yes, L not B.

Mello relaxed slightly as his body finally caught up with his mind in realization.

L looked up and down at the frightened boy before asking in his usual monotone, "Would Mello like a mild sedative? I apologize; I should have anticipated that reaction."

Mello shook his head with his knees still pressed against his chest. Quite honestly, he was still a little shaken up, but it wasn't like he wasn't going to admit it. He already appeared so weak.

L tilted his head slightly, regarding Mello with his owlish charcoal eyes.  
"Anyway, I was saying that I assure you I will find B and punish him for what has done."

B being punished was the farthest thing from Mello's mind. It was partially his fault, wasn't it? If he had been number one instead of number two, then B might have chosen someone else. If he had worked harder, if he had beaten Near, then it wouldn't have happened to him. Because B was second to L and he couldn't help himself from making that allusion when "choosing his goodbye present." That was the only reason B chose him, right?

"_You've got such pretty eyes, Mihael, such pretty eyes. Don't close them." _

"Following this week Mello will receive psychiatric assistance to help reverse the mental scaring he has received."

Mello narrowed his eyes at the older male. "No."

L bit his thumbnail and rolled his eyes upwards toward the ceiling as though in thought.  
"Yes, I thought you would say that, but I am afraid Mello isn't receiving a choice in the matter."

His obsidian orbs looked directly at the blonde. "What B did was unfortunate, but I cannot have a successor who is psychologically unstable."

"I'm not, 'unstable.' Don't lump me in with that freak."

"I apologize if I made it appear that I classify Mello and B as the same. That wasn't my intention."  
What a load of bullshit. L's words were nothing close to an apology, just words. Mello turned to the window, unbelieving and blatantly ignoring his mentor. The window at least wouldn't lie to him.

L let out a small sigh as though he was growing weary of the blonde's stubbornness. "B was a mistake, I can't deny that. But Mello is having a classic victim response. Counseling would be advisable."

Mello turned around, his eyes blazing. "I said _no. _I'm not telling my heart out to some fucker who couldn't give a shit about me."

"Don't try to reflect this, the only way Mello can work past it is to talk about it."

"I don't want to fucking talk about it! I don't want to even remember it!"

L frowned, growing visibly distressed. "I am not going to force Mello to talk, but please give counseling a try."

"What part of 'no' don't you understand!? There's nothing wrong with me, now leave!"

"Mello may not believe that there is anything wrong with him, but the psychological scars are much harder to see than the physical ones. If he were to talk—"

"Talk about what L!? Talk about how it took me getting raped," he could say it, he would not vomit, "for you to visit me? Talk about how you don't even care because you only want to want to catch B?" His voice grew softer, "Talk about how this is the first time you've visited me in months and it's after…" he swallowed, "after _that. _"

L's expression softened. So that's what this was about.  
"That is not—"

"I told you to leave," the blonde's voice was bitter and his expression dark, "get out."

L didn't move.

"_Get out! _"

In the blonde's wild state, he threw the Gameboy at L, who dodged it, making it shatter against the wall like his own sanity into a thousand pieces.

Mello clutched his knees and brought them closer to his constricting chest as his hair hid his expression.

He knew he wasn't that stable, but, God, L's presence seemed to only make things worse. Why wouldn't he go away?

_Why wouldn't everything just go away? _

L's presence was forcing him to think about that night. About the things the tried his hardest to block away from his mind. About B. About B's haunting laugh. About the pain and about that stupid endless rhythm: In-out. In-out. In-out.

Why wouldn't he _leave? _Couldn't he see how it was affecting Mello?

"Mello," the detective called monotonously.

L stepped forward towards the boy, and placed his hand on the blonde's shoulder. The blonde looked up, but the moment teal locked with obsidian, it was quite clear to L that who Mello was seeing wasn't him.

"_You've got such pretty eyes, Mihael, such pretty eyes. Don't close them." _

A scream ripped its way out of the Mello's lungs.

L jerked his hand back, startled at the reaction. He stood back and watched as Mello fought frantically to get away from an invisible assailant. There was a moment when Mello was halfway over the bars surrounding the bed, a feat considering how much pain he was in, and their eyes locked briefly.

There was fear. There was an un-yielded, primal fear drilled into those teal eyes and it was directed at L. The look hurt the detective a lot more than he thought it would. He looked downward to his bare feet. It was too much.

L stood there still looking down, even when two nurses rushed passed him. One of them held a syringe in her hands.

The strongest of the pair pulled Mello back into the bed, which only made the blonde more frantic because then he was fighting off an actual physical attacker, because then it was more real. His violent movements caused him to rip the IV out of his arm. One of the nurses managed to hold Mello's arms down to prevent him from hurting himself any longer.

_He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't scream. _

L looked up in time to see the syringe dive into the blonde's skin, and watch the child slowly go limp. And just like that, his muscles relaxed, his eyes slowly closed and his erratic breathing returned to an even pace. The aftermath of tears were painted down his face and the blonde's arm was stained with a trail of blood from where he accidentally ripped out the IV. A nurse was attending the small wound.

L just stood there with all of his reasoning abilities unable to tell him what to do. He wanted to catch B. That was certain. But as what to do with Mello? He was at a lost.

"Didn't Mello tell you to leave?"

L turned around, startled but not showing it on his facial expression, to see Matt standing in the doorway with a tray of food in his hands.  
The detective nodded slowly and Matt stood aside and gestured to the door, an unsubtle way of telling him to leave.

L frowned slightly, but nonetheless walked to the door in his normal hunched way.  
"Hey." L stopped and looked at the redhead.

"Mello will be alright," Matt looked up. His emerald eyes shone with conviction. "Just give him plenty of time."

L nodded and made his way out of the room.

He was met with the sight of Watari, who had been waiting for him the whole time. The detective jammed his hands into his pockets and looked up at his mentor. "I was not expecting that."

The elderly man gave a soft smile. "I doubt he was either."

"Yes, but it is still frustrating. Mello does not want to talk."

"Most things with worth in life are. I believe he will talk when he is ready and not a moment sooner. You should focus your energy on catching B."

L nodded somberly like a child who hated being told what to do and began to shuffle off in the other direction in his normal hunched way. "Come Watari. I wish to speak with Roger."  
The older male, with a small shake of his head and smile, followed his charge through the very orphanage that he created.

--o0o--

Despite Mello being unconscious, Matt was eating his lunch next to the blonde. They had worked up a routine and Matt wasn't going to be the one to break it, no matter what condition Mello was in. Plus, the fact that he wasn't getting a response because the blonde was unconscious felt a lot better than when he wasn't getting a response because Mello was blatantly ignoring him.

Matt looked over his friend's still body and felt that familiar rush come to him. Mello was beautiful. He was beautiful despite everything that was happening to him.

Matt didn't know how to react to this rush. He found himself wanting to touch those petal lips, but in reality wouldn't dare. He would never break that boundary between them and take advantage of his friend that way. Plus, he knew it would somehow bite him in the ass, but that still didn't stop him from wanting. It was amazing how Mello could affect him so much, whether he was awake to be there or not.

He couldn't help but get dragged into those perfect eyes that used to have such a devious and vivacious gleam to them, but now spoke clearly to Matt of nothing but pain and loneliness. He found himself inexplicably drawn to sit next to Mello every day; whether Mello knew he was there or not.

It was a deep cut whenever Mello began to ignore the redhead. Matt understood in theory why Mello was behaving in this manner. Sure, psychology wasn't his best subject, but he got the basics, so he understood how Mello was behaving and what to expect. But fuck it; theory didn't help Matt now, not when his friend was lying there broken like he was.

Fuck theory when B had so thoroughly thrashed Mello's beautifully constructed mind and psyche. Fuck theory when he looked down at the blonde's sleeping face, and saw that of a fallen angel. No, fuck psychology; it wasn't helping Matt or Mello at all.

Before, Matt grew weary of the blonde's constant rants and violent outbursts, but now, seeing Mello so… apathetic, he realized just how much he missed that irrational, insensitive Mello of the past. He would gladly switch places with Mello now and be the one with a broken soul, if only it would bring back the old Mello.

Matt knew that he had told L that Mello was going to get better, and he hoped to God that he was right but Mello had always been full of surprises. Matt looked down at his food. He couldn't bring himself to look at Mello any longer, it felt wrong somehow. For about a half-hour he sat, staring at his sandwich like it held the meaning of life, emotions and thoughts zooming around his head like hundreds of the world's most annoying bees.

Finally, Matt looked up from his food. He had little to offer from his staring contest with the food, but Matt knew one thing.

He was in love with Mello, but the Mello he loved was slowly disappearing.

TBC


End file.
